


The Guilty Party

by Zelofheda



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:39:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelofheda/pseuds/Zelofheda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt helps some of the Avengers thwart a small but rapidly growing invasion of aliens. In return, Thor promises him a favour, which Matt thinks he'll never call in - until Foggy is kidnapped and tortured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Matt heard the woman first, in the parking lot behind a liquor and spirits store; shouting and fighting and obviously in pain, but trying to keep going. Matt stopped just behind the corner, reaching out with his senses. The woman had been forced to the ground, and there were two attackers on top of her. Matt could also sense another near the open back door of the building, ignoring the woman and simply drinking out of a bottle, swallowing in short, regular intervals.

“Shoot directly over me!” she cried again, but Matt couldn’t tell whom she was addressing. “They’re biting! Ugh! Shoot one foot above me!”

Biting? That was a new one. Matt leaped in, pulling one of the attackers away from the fallen woman and punching him in the face. Behind him, he was aware of something – an arrow – finishing its flight and thwacking into its target. The woman grunted. Matt’s opponent grabbed Matt’s arm and bit into his suit. Matt punched him again, freed his arm, then kicked the man in the solar plexus and felt him stumble backwards.

“Can you see them?” the woman panted, and this time Matt was close enough to catch the faint sound, if not the words, of an electronic reply. Bluetooth? Walkie-talkie? The woman continued, “Can you –awrgh! Shoot, shoot! Right over my legs, six inches over my legs!”

Matt turned to sense the second man sprawled diagonally over the woman, trying to chew her shin. He pulled the man away, the woman’s leg came up with him, and the arrow hit the inside of her thigh. To her credit, she didn’t exactly cry out, but her bitten-down groan of pain was audible even over the sound of Matt pummelling the man’s face until he collapsed.

“Sorry!” Matt gasped.

“Shit happens,” the woman gasped back. 

From the door of the shop, the swallowing stopped abruptly. Glass shattered, there was a kind of electronic crackling in the same place, and then there was a very loud pop. Two heartbeats now, in perfect unison, where Matt was sure there had only been one before; two people striding forwards, also in lockstep. To make things worse, the first two attackers were starting to stir again. He sent the nearest back down with a kick to the head, then grabbed the other and twisted his arm behind his back.

“This one of yours?” he asked, pulling him up to his knees to face the two others. “Stop there or I’ll break his arm.”

There was no answer from any of them, not even an involuntary sound of pain from the one he was holding. And now that he was so close, Matt became aware that the body he was holding smelled … different. There was no shampoo, deodorant, aftershave, detergent, or anything else artificial. There was no sweat, no fear, not even any scent of normal skin. Whatever he smelled, he’d never come across it before, and couldn’t even compare it to anything he did know. The skin felt different, too, but he didn’t have long to contemplate it. 

“Shoot!” the woman commanded, trying at the same time to scramble backwards using both hands and her good leg. The next arrow landed in the man’s ribs, only inches from Matt’s hand, and the body in his arms collapsed with the slightest of exhalations. He pushed it away. The other two attackers had caught up with the woman, and he leaped over to pull them away.

“Hey, Daredevil,” the woman called, her teeth still gritted. With a hand on each attacker’s neck, Matt cracked their heads together. 

“Yeah?” he called back, banging them again, despite their efforts to twist out of his grip.

“How can you see them?”

Matt didn’t stop to answer; his attackers had managed to free themselves. He hit one, kicked the other, and could hear the third one, the one he thought he’d taken out already, crawling towards the woman on the ground.

“Back-up’s coming in,” the woman announced, and something swooped down from above, bringing a strong wind with it. It hit the ground so hard that it shook and Matt almost lost his balance.

“Thor, can you see them?” the woman shouted, then cried out in pain. “I’ve got one on me! I’ve got my hand on it!”

So, the back-up that had flown in was not a something, but a someone. Still fighting his two, Matt listened nevertheless. His new ally had some kind of weapon in his hand; it crackled – and smelled – like a taser. A big one. A _giant_ one. And then the man, the one she’d called Thor, commanded, “Let go!”

A huge burst of electricity jumped away from the giant taser and over to the attacker. Matt smelled a brief instant of burning, and and felt the sudden loss of a heartbeat.

“Over there, see the arrow,” the woman gasped. The man lifted his arm to the sky – why was he doing that if he merely needed to recharge the taser? There was the same loud crackling as before, the same burst of electricity, then the same silence where a heartbeat had once been. He’d killed him! Matt opened his mouth to exclaim, but then his attention was caught by the eerily familiar pop from inside the liquor store, and the emergence of two more heartbeats.

He raced towards the entrance, hoping to catch the attackers and knock them out before Taser-Thor killed them. And from outside the fence, there was someone else, another man jogging into the loading area. 

“Clint!” the woman called, but then Matt had to shift his concentration to where the two new attackers were coming straight for him. He kicked and hit, but whenever he got one down, the other one was coming up again.

“You can see them?” That was the third man, Clint. Matt heard an odd drawn-out _pulling_ sound, and it took him a moment to place the sound. A bowstring – oh, of course, this was the man who had shot the arrows earlier. Now he was kneeling by the woman, aiming in Matt’s general direction, but not yet shooting.

“Can’t you?” Matt reached out, meaning to grab his opponent by the hair, but the man was bald, and his hand slipped down to the man’s neck instead. It seemed strangely smooth, slippery even under his gloves, but Matt hung on. Clint loosed his arrow and Matt felt his opponent’s body jerk with the impact. At least the heartbeat remained. Maybe they could question the man later. He let him drop, ready to move onto the next one.

Then Clint cried out, “Got my back, he’s biting my back! Thor, zap him, right over my back!”

“The lightning will affect you, too.” Taser-Thor spoke for the first time; his voice was deep and his accent reminded Matt of Britain. Not stopping to worry about that, or about what he meant by lightning, Matt leaped over and pulled the attacker away from Clint, then spun him around for a punch in the face.

“Hey, Daredevil, hold him!” the archer called. Matt pulled his punch, keeping the man at arm’s length, and the arrow thudded into the man’s body. He let him fall, felt the proximity of the lightning bolt, and a moment later, the heartbeat stopped. There was a sudden, pungent waft of burning flesh that also disappeared.

“Why are you killing them?” Matt demanded, turning in Taser-Thor’s direction. Except it wasn’t Taser-Thor, he realized, it was just plain Thor, Thor of Asgard, the being that many referred to as a god. And his hammer really did throw lightning.

“You can see them and yet you do not know?” Thor replied. Then there was more crackling, and another burst of lightning finished off the first one that Clint had shot, the one Matt had meant to save for questioning. Then, too close to the truth, Thor asked suspiciously, “Can you see them?”

Matt hesitated, and the woman asked, “You a mutant?”

“Something like that,” he replied, trying not to sound too relieved. They knew he was Daredevil, they didn’t have to know that he was blind, too.

“They are not human, though they have a humanoid shape, and they will become visible once they have drunk enough blood. If you can sense them, then help me find where they are spawning,” Thor said. “Otherwise they will continue to multiply until they take over this planet and consume everything that contains blood.”

When Matt remembered the smell, and the feel, and the biting, he could believe that these things were not human. And if they were trying to take over the planet, even Father Lantom couldn’t call it a sin if Matt helped eradicate them. He listened, and turned his head to make it appear as though he were looking, too. 

“Inside,” he said, and led the way. There was broken glass all over the floor and everything stank of spilled beer. Farther down the aisle made by stacked crates, Matt could hear steady swallowing.

“One, straight ahead,” he murmured. 

Just then, the creature dropped the bottle it had been drinking from. Knowing what was going to happen next, Matt ran forward to get the thing before it split into two. He grabbed an arm at the same time Thor called out something about multiplying, but then the arm turned into pure electric current, Clint shot an arrow straight into Matt’s thigh, lightning crackled over him as well, and everything exploded.


	2. Chapter 2

Matt opened his eyes, and they hurt. He shut them again, and it hurt. Everything hurt. Even his hair hurt. They’d taken his mask off, and his head felt cold, exposed and vulnerable as he lifted it up. Every muscle whined and twitched in protest, telling him that he was absolutely drained of strength, and he felt sick, too. But he had to get up, had to get away; there was a vibration around him that screamed _movement_ , and _vehicle_ , and _ultimate destination: hospital._

“Lemme out,” he slurred, aware now of the seatbelt and the people on either side of him, holding him in place in the back seat of a car. He tried to straighten up, and shifted his legs involuntarily. Agony shot through his left leg, concentrating both in his wound and in his stomach. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“We’re almost there,” the woman told him from his right, but ‘almost’ wasn’t good enough. Matt vomited all down his front, gasping for air and crying with pain at the same time. What had _happened_ to him? 

“Please,” he mumbled as soon as he could speak again. “No— ”

The car turned, and though it slowed, it was enough to set Matt retching again. They were driving steeply downhill, he realized, then turning again. Parking garage?

“No hospital,” he tried again. “Please.”

The car stopped. The door on Matt’s left opened and the man next to him released his seatbelt, then turned to release Matt’s.

“No hospital,” Thor told him. ”I have healing stones here that I will gladly use for the mighty warrior who helped me defeat the spawning _ulardabr_. But first, we must get you upstairs.”

He pulled Matt out of the car and into his arms like a young child, or a bride, and although Matt was close to passing out from the pain, he never quite did. He was vaguely aware that he was whimpering and retching a third time as they went up in an elevator, up and up and up. Then Thor laid him down on something soft – a bed – and asked, “How long have you been blind?”

Matt coughed and swallowed and managed to sputter, “What?”

“How long have you been blind?” Thor repeated patiently.

Unable to deny it now, Matt murmured, “Since I was nine.”

“Then the healing stone will probably not restore your sight. I am sorry.” Thor went away for a moment, then returned. He held something over Matt’s leg, and Matt heard a hard crack, then a softer crumbling sound. Something grainy poured into the wound, burning like salt, then like fire, and Matt screamed.

+++++

Roused from full sleep into a pleasant doze, Matt was aware that a door was quietly opening and there were soft footsteps. Then, only slightly louder, Matt’s burner phone announced itself.

“Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.”

Matt shot into full consciousness, but before he could roll over and start groping for the device, somebody else had pressed the button. After a moment of silence, Foggy’s voice came over just loud enough for Matt to hear.

“Matthew Michael Murdock, you’d better not be bleeding out somewhere, or so help me G-d …”

“Matthew Michael Murdock can’t come to the phone right now.” It was Clint speaking, keeping his voice low and turning away from Matt.

But Matt could still hear Foggy reply, “All right, okay, I understand. Uh … is he safe? Just tell me what you want me to do to get him back, I’ll do it. Anything. Just don’t hurt him.”

“Foggy!” Matt called, sitting up and reaching out, and Clint pressed the phone into his hand.

“Your friend thinks we’ve kidnapped you,” he said, laughter audible in his voice as he sat down on the side of the bed, and Matt pressed the phone to his ear.

“Foggy, I’m all right.”

“Matt!” Foggy cried. “What happened? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Matt replied. He asked Clint, who replied, “Avengers Tower.”

“Avengers Tower?” Foggy repeated. “Whoa, Matt, how’d you end up there? Wait a minute, was that one of the Avengers on the phone just now?”

“His name’s Clint,” Matt said, and Foggy actually squealed like a girl. “Clint Barton? _Hawkeye?_ Matt, that is so cool! Who else did you meet? If I come pick you up, will you introduce me? Oh, G-d, I can’t pick you up. We’ve got an appointment with Mrs Zepeda in ten minutes, and I’ve been calling you all morning.”

Matt realized he wasn’t even sure where Avengers Tower was, only that it most definitely was not in Hell’s Kitchen. Foggy probably knew the address. Foggy was a great fan of the Avengers, but Matt had always been more concerned with his law studies than with celebrity superheroes. Maybe he shouldn’t have been. Slowly, he said, “I, uh, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Of course, Foggy picked up on his hesitation immediately. “Matt, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt,” Matt said, realizing it for the first time since waking up. He wasn’t wearing his suit any longer, either. They must have taken it off after Thor had applied the healing stone, whatever that was. He remembered the agony, but now, when he stretched out experimentally, there was no pain. Nothing twinged or ached, not even the injuries he’d had before. “Actually, I’m probably even better than yesterday.”

“Are you sure the Avengers didn’t kidnap you?” Foggy asked. “Because it is not normal for Matt Murdock to stay out until ten the next morning and not be hurt. I thought you were dying in a dumpster somewhere!”

Matt laughed. “Foggy, I’m fine, really. And I’m sorry I’m late; I fell asleep, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You slept at Avengers Tower? No, don’t answer that, I’ve got to go, Mrs Zepeda just came in. I’ll see you when you get here, and you’d better tell me everything.”

“I’ll see you,” Matt said. 

He ended the call, and with a smile in his voice, Clint remarked, “Well, so much for Daredevil’s secret identity, Matthew Michael Murdock.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “So now you know everything about me; my middle name, my best friend’s name, I’m blind and I also suffer from motion sickness. Sorry about your car, by the way.”

“It wasn’t my car, and Tony invented a car-cleaning robot to deal with things like that.” Clint’s amusement faded slightly. “But since we’re apologizing, bro, I’m sorry I shot you in the leg. I saw that thing, just long enough to think I could hit it, but then it was gone again and I’d hit you instead.”

“It’s okay,” Matt said, because it was.

“I’m deaf, but I’ve got a Stark implant, I see better from a distance, my best friend is named Lucky, and my middle name’s Francis,” Clint added in a gesture of friendship.

Matt couldn’t help smiling at that, and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Clint.”

“Nice to meet you.” They shook, and Clint said, “I brought up some clean clothes for you, just in case you didn’t want to run around as Daredevil in broad daylight. You’re about my size, so they should fit. But if you really want to wear your suit, we had it cleaned, too. You can shower, if you want, and I can get you something to eat before I drive you back.”

The door to the room opened again and somebody else came in. “The warrior is awake?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, voting has started on the Daredevil Minor Character Fic Fest. Read all eight of the fics, then vote for your favourite. More information here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/collections/DD_Minor_Character_Ficfest


	3. Chapter 3

It was Thor, carrying something with a faint but appetizing smell.

“I’m not a warrior,” Matt protested. “I’m just –“ He stopped to think about what he was and how he could explain it, and finished limply with, “trying to protect my city.”

“I have brought food,” Thor said, positioning a tray over Matt’s lap and removing one of two metal covers to release a full blast of the delicious scent. “Steak. You need meat after a healing.”

Matt hesitated. “Thank you, Thor, for the, ah, healing. I appreciate it. And thanks for the food, but I really have to get to my day job.”

“You must eat, truly,” Thor told him. “The healing takes the strength from your body, you must replace it. I myself can eat half a cow after a healing.”

“Really?” Clint asked. “Which half, front or back?”

Too hungry now to resist, Matt decided that any half of a cow sounded like a good idea. He found the silverware and cut a bite of steak. It was probably the best thing he’d ever tasted, and he didn’t know whether to roll it around on his tongue for a moment, or gulp it down and cut another slice. Gluttony won out.

“The middle half.” Thor sounded almost serious. “Or a pig, right down to the hooves. If you want some pork as well, fellow warrior, I can bring that, too.”

Matt swallowed his second bite, already slicing off more. “My name’s Matt Murdock, and no, this is fine, thank you.” 

He could hear Thor’s frown. “You might need more than you think, it was a very powerful healing. I did not mean for you to be affected by the lightning from Mjölnir, but the _ulardabr_ was already spawning and there was no time to get you away. I am sorry. Here, there is beer as well, to help build up your blood.”

The thought of beer made Matt’s stomach threaten to rebel, and he replied, “Uh … no, thanks.”

“Aww, beer. I used to like beer,” Clint said, echoing Matt’s thoughts. “Now I’ll never be able to drink it again without thinking of those outer-space vampire things. What did you call them? You-lardo?”

“ _Ulardabr_ ,” Thor corrected him.

“Why’d did they have to go for the beer? Why couldn’t it have been, I don’t know, tequila or saki or something?”

“Beer has something in it that they need to multiply.”

“Hops? They could have gone to a brewery, bro, they didn’t have to break into a liquor store.”

“The beer must be brewed and aged and ready to drink,” Thor explained. “More than that, I do not know. I prefer to battle them, not study them.”

“And sucking people’s blood? When they’ve already got beer?”

“Blood sustains them. Not just the blood of people. Animals also have blood, and insects, too.”

“Seriously, bro? Insects? Good luck getting blood out of an ant. Or a mosquito. Hey, that’d be a nice change, wouldn’t it?” He switched to a mock-Russian accent. “In Soviet Asgard, mosquito is bitten by _you_!”

Thor let the joke pass over him in dignified, or perhaps just ignorant, silence, but Matt grinned and stored it away to tell Foggy later. But the conversation reminded him, and he asked, “Speaking of blood, how is … the Black Widow?”

He’d arrived at her designation by the simple process of elimination; according to Foggy, all the other Avengers were male.

“Natasha?” Clint answered. “She’s fine. Thor used a healing stone on her, too; she’s probably still asleep.”

“She woke up a while ago,” Thor said. “I sent her a steak with Bruce.”

Bruce. Bruce Banner. The Hulk. Matt felt a slight punch in the gut at the name and the baggage that went along with it, but Thor was still speaking. “Matt, I must ask. Your reaction when I used the healing stone on you was not what I expected.”

Matt stopped in the act of feeling around his plate for more meat. “What did you expect?”

“It has always felt like a tingling to me,” Thor said. “And Natasha has said the same. But it seemed to hurt you.”

“Hurt?” Matt repeated. “That’s one way to put it.”

It had felt like Claire was stitching him up with a sewing machine, magnified a million times. Then he realized that was probably exactly what it was. “When I was nine, I got some chemicals in my eyes. That’s what blinded me. But my other senses were heightened. Enhanced. I’m really good at hearing and smelling and tasting, and sometimes I can feel more intensely, too. I probably felt all the healing going on in fast-forward.”

“Whoa,” said Clint, sounding exactly like Foggy, which made Matt smile. Then he went on, “So, bro, back there, you just heard the fight and thought you’d join in?” 

“Basically.”

“And that’s how you knew where those you-lardos were. You heard them? Smelled? Tasted?”

“I heard them.”

“So, you’re not really a mutant? No offense, bro.”

“None taken, and no. I’m not a mutant.”

“I have an older relative who is blind,” Thor put in, “I thought I recognized the signs. But I have never seen him fight the way you do.”

“I had some training,” Matt admitted.

“It was very good training,” Thor said. “You are a very good fighter. I was proud to have you at my side, and grateful that you chose to use your enhanced senses to help us eradicate the ulardabr. In return, I offer you my abilities, should you ever need them, and healing stones for whenever you are injured. Even if I am not on Midgard, the stones will always be available, here.”

He held out a hand and Matt gripped it, giving Thor a polite smile. He couldn’t imagine Thor joining in Daredevil’s viglante activities. Superheroes like him didn’t care about the little people, the ones getting hurt on a nightly basis in Hell’s Kitchen because of other humans, not because of alien invasions and beer-guzzling vampires from outer space and things like that. And why waste healing stones on things that would heal by themselves in time? (Not that he didn’t appreciate not having to hobble around for weeks or even months.) Still, it was a nice offer.

“Thank you,” he said. His words were sincere, even if his smile wasn’t. “And thank you again, for the healing, and the steak, and everything, but I really have to get to work now.” 

Setting the tray aside, Matt scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. Even though he was no longer wearing his suit, he could still sense traces of vomit on himself. “You said I could shower?”

“If you do not eat properly, you will not have the strength to work,” Thor said. “You have not even finished one steak, and I brought you two. Come, sit down and when you are finished, I will fly you back to your place of work. That will be quicker than your automobiles.”

“Oh, g-d, please, no,” Matt protested, sidling towards the door he thought must lead to the bathroom. Then, in case Thor was offended, he quickly explained, “I was just telling Clint that I suffer from motion sickness.”

“What is motion sickness?” Thor sounded utterly baffled.

“It means that if you move too fast, like flying, you feel sick and you want to throw up,” Matt explained. “Like I did last night.”

“I thought that was because of the pain and the lightning.”

“That probably had something to do with it, yeah, but I really don’t think flying would be a good idea for me.” He even got nauseous in fast taxis, not that he was eager to admit _that_. To change the subject, Matt placed his hand on the doorknob. “Is this the bathroom, or just a closet?”

“Bathroom,” Clint informed him. “You’ve got towels and stuff inside, use whatever you want. Here, bro, I’ve got your clean clothes here.”

He picked them up from where he had deposited them when he came into the room and placed them in Matt’s outstretched arms. “Bro, you want a doggy bag for that extra steak while we’re at it?”

“Sure, thanks.” It really had been excellent meat, and he’d probably be hungry again once he got back to Hell’s Kitchen and away from the threat of transportation.

As Matt went into the bathroom, he heard Thor’s disapproving comment. “That steak is meant for a warrior, not a warrior’s dog.”

In the shower, Matt ran his hands down his thigh, feeling for any sign of the arrow wound. There was nothing, not even any scar tissue that he could sense with his fingertips. And as he washed the rest of himself, he realized that some of his newer scars had disappeared as well. So that was what Thor had meant when he’d apologized for the fact that the healing stone wouldn’t restore his sight. He wondered just how recent a wound had to be for a healing stone to work on it, then told himself firmly to stop dreaming.

Instead, he realized he’d have to talk to Foggy later about using any part of his name on the burner phone, let alone the entire thing, no matter how worried he was. But what could Foggy call him instead? He didn’t think his friend would actually call him Daredevil, or even Devil. DD didn’t sound right, either, more like a French girl’s nickname. Remembering how Foggy had come up with the name Hottie McBurnerphone for Claire made Matt shudder as he considered what Foggy might think up for _him_ , especially now that his costume had horns. Maybe he and Foggy could compromise on something normal, like Mike. He could at least suggest it without either one of them cringing.


	4. Chapter 4

Foggy swung the bag into the dumpster and turned around to go back into his building. It was cold and there’d be frost before morning, but he hadn’t seen the necessity of putting on a coat just to take out the garbage. Then somebody stepped in front of him, and all thoughts of cold or coats disappeared from Foggy’s mind, to be replaced by only one thing: Gun. The man had a gun, and it was pointing directly at Foggy.

“Whoa,” Foggy said, raising his hands immediately.

“Foggy Nelson,” the man said. He was big, well over six feet, and as broad through the shoulders as a professional wrestler. Even without the gun, he was intimidating.

“Yeah,” Foggy replied, his mouth dry, his heart hammering, and words spilling out as they always did when he was close to panic. “You want money, man? Cause you can have it, no problem, just don’t shoot.”

He made to reach for his wallet, but the gun twitched, and Foggy froze. With his other hand, the man extended a bundle of dark cloth to him. “Put this on or I will shoot you in the arm. It won’t kill you, but it will hurt.”

Edging away from the barrel of the pistol, Foggy reached out and took it. “A blindfold? What is this, a kidnapping? I can give you the money in my wallet, but I don’t have enough for a real ransom, because, yeah, I’m a lawyer, but we’ve just started and we can barely pay the electricity and –“

“Shut. Up.” 

At a miniscule movement from the pistol, Foggy snapped his mouth shut.

“Put. The. Blindfold. On.”

Foggy put it on. The man grabbed his shoulder and spun him around three times, just like they were playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Foggy staggered, and when the man gave him a push from behind, he went down on his knees, close enough for him to smell what was under the dumpster. “Ow!” 

The man kicked him in the leg, and Foggy cried out again. “Ow!”

“Get up,” the man growled.

Foggy heaved himself upright, wishing heartily for Matt’s superpowers so that he could sense where the man was just by listening to his heartbeat, then reach out, disarm him, and clock him one in the face for good measure. Maybe throw in a couple of backflips, too. Instead, he just stood there, shivering, while the man slung one arm over Foggy’s shoulders and pressed the gun to his ribs with his other hand.

“Walk,” he commanded, and Foggy walked. Despite his dizziness, he thought they must be heading farther down the alley. He could feel and hear broken glass grinding under his shoes, the crackle of a piece of paper, the rustling of a plastic bag, and, just ahead, the opening of the side door of a van. He wanted to fight back, or run, or even just scream, but when they got to the van, he simply let himself be pulled inside and guided to a middle seat.

When the van stopped, they got out, and the men guided Foggy to a doorway, then into a building and down a set of stairs. A very long set of stairs, straight down. Foggy clung to the guiderail with one hand and felt with his feet for each step, terrified of falling. The end came as a surprise and he almost stumbled then. The man on his right caught him and guided him along. After several steps, they stopped, and the man on his right let go. There were sounds of rustling movement, and Foggy jumped as something touched his hand.

“Wrap this around your waist,” the man told him. “Or I will shoot you in the arm.”

It felt like the kind of thick velvet rope that they had in museums or other swanky plances. Awkwardly, Foggy pulled and twisted it around his waist, wondering why on earth they wanted it there. Weren’t they supposed to be tying his hands behind his back or strapping him to a table or whatever the bad guys normally did? When he’d finished, the man took the end from him and readjusted it with a few tugs. Then there was a kind of metallic clicking on both sides of him that as though they might be clipping the end of the ropes to something.

“Bend over and grab your ankles,” the man told him. Foggy hesitated, and the man tapped him on the upper arm. Feeling suddenly sick with fear, Foggy reached for his shins, jerking back with a cry of surprise as someone else grabbed his left wrist. They handcuffed his hand to his leg, pulling his pantleg up and fastening the cuff tightly around his shin, then moved over to his right side to do the same.

“You can scream all you want,” one of the other men said. He had a slight accent. “Nobody will hear you down here.”

“Oh, g-d, don’t rape me, please!” Foggy cried. It was hard to talk, harder even to breathe when bent double, and he tried to pull up as far as he could. It wasn’t very far, and one of the men whacked him softly in the head with something that felt like a broom handle.

“Head down,” he said, and Foggy let it drop again, panting and close to panic.

A moment later, pain cracked across his backside, reminding Foggy of when he was a child and the few but memorable times his father had taken a belt to him. Then the first man said, “Beg me.”

“Beg you for _what_?” Foggy gasped. The man hit him again, and when Foggy didn’t respond immediately, hit him a third time. 

Foggy pulled his head up and yanked at the handcuffs, trying to slip them higher up his legs so that he could straighten out, but they scarcely budged. As he struggled to take a deep breath, the second man gave him a tap on the head, and then another, sharper one.

“Head down!” he reminded Foggy, just as the first man belted him across the buttocks yet again.

“Hey, stop!” Foggy cried, still struggling and earning a third blow to the head. They were becoming painful. “Stop, I’m begging you! Is that what you want me to say?”

Apparantly, it wasn’t, because they kept hitting him. It was taking on a kind of rhythm; a blow to the backside, a whack on the head, back and forth, back and forth.

“Please!” Foggy finally panted. “Please! Just tell me what you want me to say! Just tell me!”

“Put your head down and I might just tell you,” the first man said. The second man punctuated the sentence with by giving Foggy the hardest whack yet, and Foggy couldn’t help flinching away. Finally, he let his head hang, forcing it to stay down even as he got another beltlash.

“Beg me,” the man finally said, “to let you tell me everything you know about Daredevil.”

“What?” Foggy exclaimed, pulling his head up again and gulping for air. He was going to pass out soon, he thought, and the latest blow to the head made him see stars behind his blindfold. His legs were already getting weak and he felt his knees bend, but the rope around his waist kept him more or less in position. Oh, he thought vaguely, so that was what it was for. 

The man with the belt had stopped hitting him, at least for the moment, but now he prodded Foggy’s ankle with his shoe. “Come on, beg me for the chance to tell me about Daredevil.”

“What makes you think I know anything about Daredevil?” Foggy asked, and the man hit him twice in rapid succession with the belt. Struggling to breathe, Foggy also got another whack on the head.

“We recovered a phone last night after a fight with Daredevil,” the man said, and gave Foggy two more beltlashes. “It took time to crack the password, of course.”

Yeah, Foggy remembered Matt saying something about having lost his burner phone. He’d gone out at lunch time to get a new one, probably never once thinking that his enemies were using the old one to find him. Foggy wondered if Matt even knew you could do that sort of thing. He kept up to date on blind-friendly technology, but otherwise pretty much divided his energy between practicing law and being Daredevil.

The man hit Foggy again, this time across the upper thighs. Foggy cried out, and the man went on. “We triangulated one of the numbers to someone at Metro General Hospital. Too many people there. But then we tried your number, triangulated it to your building, and tracked you down. You practically welcomed us with open arms.”

Two more lashes. Foggy felt sick at how easily he’d gone along with his own kidnapping, and hung his head without any reminders from the second man.

“That’s why we think you know something about Daredevil, if he had a phone with your number in it.”

“Well, maybe he meant to put in somebody else’s number and got mine by mistake,” Foggy cried, which earned him fives lashes in rapid succession, and a hit to the head to round it off. He was feeling even more breathless now, and wondering why he hadn’t fainted yet.

“So,” the man said. “This is your last chance to beg me, before we do something worse to make you talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who's left kudos here!


	5. Chapter 5

A million thoughts rushed through Foggy’s head in a single instant, most of them dividing up into two distinct sides: he couldn’t betray Matt, but, oh, g-d, he had to breathe! He couldn’t get his hands free, couldn’t straighten up, but maybe he could get out another way. He threw his entire weight to the left, but whatever the rope was attached to did not give way at all, and he was left hanging off-balance until he got his feet under him again.

The second man made a sound of disapproval, then used his stick to hit Foggy in the left elbow with such force that Foggy was sure it broke under the blow. As he screamed, he pulled instinctively away, which caused even more pain. Then the first man hit him again, this with something that seemed to rip right through his pants, his boxers, and several layers of skin.

Foggy shrieked inarticulately at first, and when he could find words, he shouted, “What the fuck was that?”

“Rubber hose,” the man told him. “With a slit in it. You’re bleeding already.”

And hit him again, and again, and again. After five lashes, he stopped, waiting for Foggy to finish screaming and just hang there, suspended by the rope and gasping for air.

“Something to say?” the man prompted.

“Please,” Foggy begged. There were hot tears in his eyes, not only because of the pain, but because he knew he was going to give in, and probably sooner rather than later. When he hesitated too long, however, the man hit him a sixth time. “Please, what?”

Foggy knew that Matt couldn’t save him. Matt didn’t know he’d been kidnapped, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hear Foggy’s screams, let alone his heartbeat, from down here, wherever he was. More than likely, he wasn’t even out daredeviling yet; it hadn’t been all that late when Foggy had gone down to take the garbage out. He’d probably still be in his apartment, having something to eat, maybe reviewing case files for the next day. He’d never know Foggy was missing until he was long dead from lack of oxygen.

Maybe that was his way out? Was he brave enough to take more of the pain until it was finally and irrevocably over?

“I don’t know – anything about – Daredevil,” he gasped, not lifting his head. “And I’ve seen – your face – I can – identify you! So you – might -- as well – kill me – now!”

But instead of more lashes to his legs, it was the second man who hit him next, a blow to his right elbow even stronger than the one to his left. And when his screams died away to whimpers, the first man simply repeated, “Beg me to let you tell me everything you know about Daredevil.”

Foggy held his breath, willing himself to pass out and hopefully die, but when the man hit the backs of his knees again and again with the rubber hose, he found himself shrieking, struggling, and, of course, gasping again for air. Finally, the words tumbled out of his mouth and he heard himself pleading, “Please, please – stop – let me – tell you – please!”

The man stopped. “All right. I’m listening.”

“It’s – my partner – Matt Murdock.” Foggy would never forgive himself for saying the name out loud. “Please – let me up.”

“Your partner? Your boyfriend?”

“At law,” Foggy hastened to clarify before the next blow could come. “Nelson – and Murdock – attorneys – at law. Please! I’m telling – you the truth! Let me – up!”

“He’s blind,” said the second man suddenly. “Murdock’s that blind lawyer. I see him at the coffee shop all the time.”

He hit Foggy in the shoulder blade with his stick and demanded, “No more lies!”

Breathing had suddenly become much harder, and Foggy was crying now as well, from both the physical pain and the torment of having just betrayed his best friend.

“Beg me,” the first man said coldly, “to let you tell me the truth.”

“Oh, g-d – just – kill me,” Foggy sobbed.

“Oh, no, you’re going to stay alive until you tell us the truth,” the man told him. He brought the rubber hose down across Foggy’s thighs again and again, finding places that hadn’t already been sliced open, until Foggy really did pass out.

He woke up soaking wet and still more or less on his feet, but no longer bent double; the upper half of his body was supported by a table. Every breath aggravated his broken shoulder blade, but at least he could breathe. Eventually, he realized that breathing and pain meant he was still alive, and his wrists were still handcuffed to something on the other side of the table, which meant he was still in captivity, and …oh, g-d, he’d still betrayed Matt.

“You were telling us about how your blind lawyer partner is Daredevil,” the first man said. Instead of hitting Foggy, though, he ran the end of the rubber hose diagonally across Foggy’s buttocks, then down one thigh. Foggy shuddered as it slid over the open wounds, and even that slight movement set off more pain in his elbows and his scapula. He moaned.

“It’s true,” he whispered, but before he could say more, the man was hitting him again, this time across the middle of his back.

“Please!” he screeched between blows. “It’s true! Matt Murdock! He’s got – like – superpowers!”

“Take the table away,” the man said. “As he was before.”

“No!” Foggy cried, but he could barely even struggle for sheer agony. They lifted him off the support, shoved it away, then pulled his wrists down and cuffed them to his ankles again. For good measure, the second man also whacked him across the ear with his stick and spoke a short sentence. Foggy couldn’t make out the individual words through his cries and the ringing in his ear, but it was probably only something about keeping his head down.

The first man started to beat him again, this time on his left side, hitting both his ribs and his thighs. In between screams of pain, Foggy sobbed, “Matt Murdock – Matt Murdock – and if you’re –not going – to believe me – then just – kill me!”

It wasn’t like he wanted to live anymore anyway.

Eventually, the beating stopped, but not before Foggy had been reduced to gasping and mumbling, “Just kill me – kill me.”

“Foggy,” said a voice. It was different than those of the men around him, vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to hear it.

“Just kill me,” Foggy whispered again. The blindfold was removed from his head and there were hands on his arms and legs, unlocking the cuffs. Foggy cried out as they jostled his broken bones. “Please – no –“

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me, Foggy.”

Foggy couldn’t straighten on his own, but hands were removing the velvet rope and lowering him gently to the floor. He could breathe again. There was agony, but he could breathe.

“Kill me,” he murmured again. 

He didn’t want to breathe.


	6. Chapter 6

Matt could tell that Foggy was still alive by his heartbeat, weak as it was, and his raspy breathing. He’d heard the broken bones shift, could smell the blood and feel the open wounds over too much of Foggy’s body. Worst of all, he’d heard Foggy begging for mercy, the terrible, ultimate kind of mercy, and it had shaken him to his core.

There was only one thing to do. With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone and commanded it to call Thor. When he’d got his new phone earlier that day, he’d debated about transferring the numbers of his three Avengers acquaintances to it, as he’d never had any intention of calling them. In the end, though, he’d finally figured it couldn’t hurt. Now it rang four times, then asked him to leave a message, and Matt wanted to break something out of desperation. Instead, he gave a new command, this time to call Clint.

“Barton,” came the live answer, and Matt exhaled in relief.

“Clint, it’s …” Matt stopped to listen. The men he’d hit were still unconscious, but it was still better to be safe. “… Daredevil. I need a favor.”

“Anything, bro! Just tell me who to shoot.”

“I need a healing stone,” Matt said. “It’s my friend, he’s been kidnapped and tortured, and it’s … pretty bad.”

Clint’s voice became instantly more serious. “Where are you? Can he be moved?”

Matt gave him the address, then said, “He’s got some broken bones, but not vertebrae. He could be moved, but they’ve … it feels like they’ve whipped him with something that ripped him open. Like bleeding from a thousand cuts.” 

“Will you be okay until I can get there? Thor’s not in New York at the moment, and Tony’s out, too. I’ll have to drive to the tower to get the stone and bring it to you.”

“I think we’ll be all right for a while, at least.”

“You know anything about first aid? Treat for shock and call the doc, that sort of thing?”

“I know first aid,” Matt said, “but this is … beyond me.”

“Do what you can to keep him warm, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

After he’d hung up, Matt did a quick search of the underground dance club. At first he found nothing he could use, only abandoned tables and chairs, but then he found where the three kidnappers had laid their jackets before starting the torture. He spread them out over Foggy, and then there was nothing to do but hold Foggy’s unresponsive hand and wait.

Clint finally came, after what seemed like an eternity, and when Matt peeled back the coverings to show him Foggy, he exhaled sharply. “Okay … this looks bad.”

Then he cracked the stone open and crumbled it in his hands. As he distributed the sandy particles as best he could over all the wounds, he said, “I hope this is enough, because this was the last stone in the tower.”

Matt hoped so, too, but didn’t say anything.

“Can you hear it healing, bro?” Clint asked. Matt listened, and shook his head. “No.”

“No sounds like little wet sponges hitting each other?” When Matt gave him a questioning look, Clint said, “I thought that’s what it might sound like, if you could hear the cells in your body rushing into place. Hey, let me see your leg.” 

“Why?”

“You’re bleeding, and I’ve still got some dust on my hands. I can shake it over your wound. It might help.”

“No,” Matt said, stepping back. One of the men had shot at him, but the bullet had only grazed the outside of his thigh. “Use it for Foggy, every last speck.”

“Okay, bro.” Clint brushed his hands together over Foggy’s back. “There, all done. Looks pretty healed to me.”

Matt gently placed his fingers on Foggy’s leg, feeling between the ribbons of sliced cloth. The skin under his fingertips was smooth and whole, and when he gently probed Foggy’s elbow, he could no longer hear the pieces of bone moving the wrong way.

“Good stuff, huh, bro?” Clint asked. “Sorry I didn’t bring any steaks, though.”

“It’s all right.” Matt allowed himself to smile. “Thank you.”

“I hope Thor brings some more healing stones when he comes back from Asgard,” Clint says. “If you two get into trouble again before that, you’re on your own.”

Foggy’s heartbeat and breathing changed even as Matt replied, “I’ll keep a better watch on him.”

Then he touched Foggy’s shoulder. “Foggy? How’re you doing?”

Foggy sat up and Matt could hear him looking around in stunned silence until the words suddenly burst out of him. “What’s going on? Why doesn’t it hurt anymore? Why the hell am I still alive, and, oh, g-d, Matt, I told them who you were, I told them you were Daredevil!”

“It’s all right,” Matt said.

“No! It’s not all right! I betrayed you, I—“ Foggy started to sob, but tried to keep speaking anyway. “Why’d you have to rescue me, why couldn’t you just let me die!”

“Foggy, you’re my friend, of course I rescued you,” Matt said, surprised at the amount of anger he could hear. He put out one hand, aiming for Foggy’s shoulder, but Foggy pushed him away and tried to stand up. He managed two steps, then sank to his knees.

“You’ll be weak for a while, bro,” Clint told him. “I can drive you home, then you can go to bed and sleep it off.”

“What the fuck do you know about anything!” Foggy snarled. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“I’m Clint Barton. And I know that everybody breaks under torture sooner or later.”

“Which you know because you read it on Wikipedia?” Foggy’s voice was weaker, but still venomous; his anger was not cooling despite his exhaustion. Matt heard him put out a hand to support himself. 

Clint didn’t directly answer the question. “Dude, I’ve been on the receiving end of one of Thor’s healing stones more than once, too. Sucks all the energy right out of your body and leaves you feeling like a piece of leftover pizza with all the toppings gone.” 

“Healing stones?” Now there was more curiosity than rage in Foggy’s voice. Matt took it as a sign that he could move closer.

“Yeah, Foggy, remember I told you about them?” he said.

“You didn’t really explain,” Foggy mumbled. “What are they, anyway?”

“Thor brings some down from Asgard every so often,” Clint said. “They’re a kind of magic rock. You crumble them over the injuries and, shazam, they heal right up.”

“Shazam, I finally meet Hawkeye, and he dumps sand in my pants,” Foggy murmured. “And who the hell says ‘shazam’ anyway?” 

Matt smiled, and reached out for Foggy’s arm. “Come on, let’s get you home. You need some sleep.”

But Foggy shook his hand off and leaned on Clint instead, which left Matt wondering what he’d done wrong, what he’d missed.

“Are they dead?” Foggy asked as he staggered towards the stairs. “I hope you killed them, Matt.”

“I didn’t kill them.” Matt shouldn’t have felt surprised at Foggy’s reaction, but he did. “Foggy, I don’t kill people, I told you that.”

“Well, you should have made an exception for them,” Foggy said, heaving himself up the first step. “Not just because they tortured me, which g-d knows should be more than enough reason, but because I told them _who you are_ , Matt. I told them that you’re Daredevil! They _know_! And they could _tell_ people!”

“They didn’t believe you,” Matt said, and Foggy stopped. After a long moment, his voice was full of tears as he asked, “You heard that?”

“That’s how I found you, Foggy, I heard you screaming my name,” Matt said.

Foggy sobbed once, then found renewed energy from somewhere and barrelled up the steps. Matt followed, and heard him get into Clint’s car, slamming the door. He pulled it open and said, “Foggy, I didn’t kill them, but they won’t be waking up again soon.”

“You should have killed them,” Foggy said, and reached to slam the door again. Matt barely got his hand away in time, and from inside the car, he heard Foggy murmur, “You should have let me die.”

“You coming with us?” Clint asked, and Matt sighed. “No. You go on, I’ll get home on my own.”

“If you ever need to talk, you have my number,” Clint offered.

“I know,” Matt said. “And thank you, for everything.”

“Fist bump?” Clint extended his knuckles, and Matt bumped them. It wasn’t the same as with Foggy, though, which made him feel even worse.

“Get some steak while you’re out,” Clint said, then got into the car and started the engine. 

Matt stood there for a long time, clenching his fists as he listened to the sound of the car disappearing into the distance. He’d been more brutal on the kidnappers than he’d been on anyone else except Fisk, but he still hadn’t crossed the line of killing them outright. He wasn’t even going to call 911 for them, like he often did when he left a trail of unconscious bodies behind. In fact, he wondered if he should go down and finish them off, to make Foggy feel better, but despite it all, something in him rebelled at the thought of doing it now, in cold blood. Had he been wrong not to do it in the fight? Would Foggy be happier if he had? Would he himself be happier if he had?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the kudos and all the hits, but I'd also love some comments because I'm needy like that.


	7. Chapter 7

He was still pondering the next morning when he limped over to Foggy’s apartment. The bullet graze on his thigh ached sharply at each movement, and he wasn’t even sure he’d be welcome, but he had to make sure Foggy was all right. He’d tried calling twice already, but either Foggy was still asleep, or he wasn’t answering his phone. Matt hoped it was the former, hoped that Foggy wasn’t ignoring him, and knocked loudly on the door. Twice. Three times.

When Foggy still didn’t answer, Matt tried the knob, and was both pleased and dismayed that the door opened. Pleased because he could get in, dismayed because it meant Foggy wasn’t as safe as he could be. Entering, he called out, “Foggy? Foggy, it’s me, Matt.”

Rewarded by the faint sound of a snore from the bedroom, Matt made his way to Foggy’s kitchen. He had followed Clint’s advice and bought steaks last night, picking them up from a restaurant one price class higher than where they usually ate. They’d have to be heated up in the microwave, but he was sure Foggy wouldn’t mind. He’d even bought a baked potato and an extra container of sour cream; something else Foggy was fond of.

In bed, Foggy rolled over. Hearing the change in his heartbeat and his breathing, Matt quickly arranged the food on a plate and stuck it in the microwave, then limped over to the bedroom. “Foggy? You awake?”

“No, I’m talking in my sleep,” Foggy replied, but Matt heard him sit up anyway.

“How do you feel?”

“What the fuck, Matt? Where are we?”

Of all the possible answers, Matt hadn’t expected that one. “We’re in your apartment, Foggy.”

“My – what? I don’t have an apartment.” There was a pause, and then Foggy started to laugh. “Okay, Matt, you got me. This is revenge for moving all the furniture out of our dorm room, right?”

“No,” Matt said, starting to feel uneasy.

“This is really good, Matt, but seriously, whose apartment is this? Who helped you set this up?”

“This isn’t a joke, Foggy. This really is your apartment.” Behind Matt, the microwave dinged. “Are – are you hungry?“

“Guess I am,” Foggy said. He stood up and glanced around. “How’d you do it, Matt? How’d you get me here without me remembering? I don’t even feel hungover. Hey, have you seen my clothes anywhere?”

“Try the closet,” Matt suggested.

“You can stop now, Matt.” Foggy leaned over to pick up something near Matt’s feet, and his tone changed. “I hope these aren’t the clothes I came here in. How’d they get so ragged, and what is this, paint? Must have been one hell of a paintball game.”

“It’s -- um.” Matt hesitated to point out what it really was. He could still smell the dried blood on Foggy’s back, and wondered that Foggy hadn’t seemed to notice it himself. To change the subject, he moved towards Foggy’s chest of drawers and found a pair of boxers. “Get dressed, then come eat something.”

“These are exactly my size,” Foggy said as he pulled them on. “Who do we know who’s exactly my size, and are you sure he won’t mind me borrowing his underwear? I mean, a shirt is one thing, but somebody else’s boxers? Could be kinda gross, man.”

“They’re clean. And here’s a shirt,” Matt said, teasing one out by feel and tossing it to his friend.

“Hey, that’s my shirt. How’d it get – oh, you brought it over and hid it here, didn’t you? All part of the plan, very convincing. You brought some of my boxers over, too, didn’t you, you just got them mixed up with his. Get out of the way, Matt, let me look for them.”

Matt sighed inwardly. “Foggy, never mind. You’re dressed, and your steak is going to get cold again in a minute. Come and eat.”

“Steak? Steak for breakfast? Whatever happened to cereal and orange juice? Or bagels? Does this guy have any bagels?” Foggy followed him from the bedroom to the kitchen.

“I just thought you might like some meat,” Matt said. He opened the microwave and took out the plate. “Here.”

Foggy took it from him and sat down. “You know, I really do feel like steak this morning. Weird, huh? And when did you get those new glasses? Did you know the lenses look red in the right light?”

Matt pushed the little container of sour cream closer to his friend and took a seat on the other side of the table. After Foggy had taken a few bites, he said, “Matt, stop looking at me like that. Stop listening to me like that.”

“Foggy,” Matt said. “What do you remember about last night?”

Foggy chewed and swallowed, then said, “I dunno – not much. Okay, nothing at all. Seriously. What? Did I get hit with some kind of date-rape drug? Is that how you did this, Matt?”

“Foggy, do you really think I could do that to you?” Matt was surprised at how much the accusation hurt.

“I dunno, Matt, but this is kinda starting to freak me out.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Matt replied. “Foggy, um, bear with me here, okay? What’s the date?”

Foggy thought for a moment, and Matt heard his breathing and heartbeat both speed up. At last, he slowly confessed, “I … um … I don’t know. What is to-day?”

Matt told him, and Foggy sat very quietly. When the silence became too much, Matt said, “You can check your phone, your laptop, see if I’m telling you the truth.”

“Yeah … where is my laptop?”

“Is it in your bag?” Matt guessed. “You usually dump your bag on your couch when you get in.”

Foggy stood up, found the laptop and brought it back to the table, taking a few more bites while it booted up. Matt could tell when the date on the screen became visible, because Foggy froze. In a very small voice, he said, “Matt … please tell me this is some kind of time travel thing?”

Matt didn’t know how to respond to such a desperate plea except to say, “I’m sorry, Foggy. I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? Did you hit me in the head, give me amnesia, make me forget the last three and a half years?” Foggy rubbed the back of his head as though searching for something. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“I didn’t hit you,” Matt said. “But I do think you have amnesia.”

“So this really is my apartment? I really live here?”

“You’ve got your diploma on the wall,” Matt remembered, pointing vaguely in the right direction.

Foggy got up to look at it and murmured aloud, “I graduated cum laude from Columbia Law School.”

Matt waited.

“And?” Foggy finally asked. “What happened after that?”

“We had an internship at Landman and Zack,” Matt told him, wondering how much more to say.

“We did? Did they offer us a job?”

“Yes, but we decided not to take it. We have our own practice now, Nelson and Murdock.”

“Huh.” Foggy came back and sat down.

“You want to see it? We can go over, see if it jogs your memory.”

“Yeah,” Foggy said, brightening a little. “Yeah, I’d like to see that. Do we have a sign and everything?”

“Yeah,” Matt told him. “We’ve even made enough money to pay the bills this month.”

“Matt, that is not very reassuring.” But Foggy smiled a little as he went back to his breakfast.

While Foggy was showering, Matt bundled up his torn and bloodied clothes, then wrapped them in a plastic bag and pushed it to the bottom of Foggy’s empty trash can. After that, he decided it was no longer too early on a Friday morning to call Clint, and the archer answered almost on the first ring.

“Matt, everything all right?” he asked.

“No,” Matt admitted. “Foggy – I think he’s got amnesia. He woke up thinking we were still at law school. He didn’t even recognize his own apartment. It’s like he’s completely forgotten the last three years at least. Is that – could it be caused by Thor’s healing stones?”

“It sounds more like PTSD,” Clint said.

“PTSD?” Matt repeated, not because he’d never heard of it – he had – but because he hadn’t once considered the idea that morning.

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Clint clarified, and Matt groaned in understanding. “Because they tortured him.”

“They call it dissociative amnesia and, yeah, it can happen after something like torture. Or a traumatic accident, combat experience, things like that.”

“But why forget the last three years? Why not just last night?”

“I don’t know, bro. People’s brains are weird.”

“What should I do? Should I go along with it, or try to make him remember?”

“Go along with it for now,” Clint said. “I think. Sorry, Matt, I don’t have any personal experience with this. I only know a few things that I’ve heard. Keep him calm, be supportive, don’t try to force anything.”

“Okay,” Matt said.

“I can talk to Br – to some people I know, see what they say,” Clint offered. “Can I call you back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks, Clint.”

“Talk to you later,” Clint said.

Next, Matt dialed Karen; officially, their secretary, unofficially, their best friend.

“Matt,” she said cheerfully. “I’m just on my way to the office, will I see you there, or are you taking the day off again?”

“I – ” he started. “Um. This is going to sound really weird, but Foggy woke up this morning with a kind of amnesia.”

“Are you kidding me?” she squeaked. “Is he all right? Was it a head injury? Does he even know who he is? Does he remember anything?”

“He remembers who he is, he remembers me, he’s just forgotten the last three years or so.” Matt hesitated, then added, “I don’t know what’s going on, why this happened to him. It doesn’t seem to be a head injury; he said nothing hurts. But, um, I’m going to bring him over, let him see the office, see if it helps?”

“Oh,” said Karen. “Oh, yeah, sure. It’s just that … you’ve got an appointment at ten.”

“We’ll handle it,” Matt said, alreading thinking of how Foggy could sit in. If it were a new client, they could pretend Foggy was an intern, if not, he could just be uncharacteristically quiet and take notes. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten everything, after all. And he could still learn.

Matt didn’t want to think about how much catching up Foggy would have to do if his memories didn’t come back immediately. He certainly didn’t want to think about Foggy’s memories not coming back at all.


	8. Chapter 8

They walked to the office. Foggy spent most of his time glancing around, comparing the present to what he remembered, and Matt was glad that they weren’t going through certain other parts of the neighbourhood. Halfway there, though, Foggy said, “Hey, Matt, why are you limping?”

“I, uh, slipped on the stairs and twisted my knee a little,” he said, making an effort to walk normally again. “No big deal.”

“Are you sure you should be walking on that? Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“It’s fine. I’ll rest it over the weekend.” When he wasn’t out saving his city.

“Has that coffee shop always been there?”

Matt sniffed the coffee-rich air and tried to remember when he’d first smelled it. “A year or two, I think.”

“What’s a Daredevil Latte?”

Mat froze inwardly. “A what?”

“All new, the Daredevil Latte,” Foggy read out. “Devilishly Spicy. Daringly Delicious.”

“Never heard of it,” Matt said, groaning silently at the idea.

“Sounds a bit like … cinnamon, don’t you think? Or tobasco sauce?”

“Tobasco sauce and coffee?” The thought made Matt want to gag.

“Sounded devilishly spicy to me.”

“But not daringly delicious.”

Foggy laughed, and they crossed the street. 

“Just right up there,” Matt started to say, but Foggy had already seen it, and jogged ahead. “Hey, there it is! Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law.”

Matt couldn’t help smiling as proudly as the first time he’d come into contact with the sign.

“Well, come on, show me to our office.” Foggy sounded proud, too.

“Up the stairs,” Matt said, opening the door. “Just … don’t expect too much.”

As soon as they came into the office, Karen stood up from behind her desk. “Foggy?”

“Um, hi,” said Foggy, then turned his head. “Matt, you didn’t tell me we had a secretary?”

“I’m Karen Page,” she said, sounding stiltedly formal, but then her voice went back to normal. “This is kinda weird, you know?”

“You’re telling me?”

“Do you have any idea what caused it?” she went on.

“Nope,” Foggy replied, and a beat later, Matt hastily added, “No.”

“Can I – can I just give you a hug? Because you kinda look like you need one.”

“Yeah, sure,” Foggy replied, a pleased chuckle in his voice, but Matt could sense how hesitantly he embraced her. Then Karen let go and went back to her desk. “I brought you a chocolate croissant.”

“Wow, and Matt told me not to expect too much,” Foggy said. A paper bag crinkled, and Foggy added, “But do you mind if I eat this later? I’m still full from the two steaks and the baked potato that Matt brought me for breakfast.”

“Steaks?” Karen asked, and Matt could almost hear her forehead wrinkling. “Baked potato? For breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, searching frantically for any excuse, no matter how lame. “It kind of felt like a steak day.”

“It did?” Foggy asked. “Because I noticed you didn’t have one.”

“I’d already eaten,” Matt said, which wasn’t a complete lie. “So, Karen, what’s our schedule for to-day?”

“Okay, an appointment with a Mr Johnson at ten and lunch at twelve thirty. Looks like we get an early weekend, again.” 

“Have we met this Mr Johnson before?”

“No.”

“Okay. Foggy, I’m going to introduce you as my intern, Mr … Franklin. Just sit there and take notes, and if you have any questions, ask me privately, afterwards, all right?”

“Sure,” Foggy said again. “Hey, do you mind if I sit down in my office and, uh, catch up on case files or something until then?”

Matt grinned at the way Foggy emphasized “my office” and said, “Go ahead.”

He was glad that Foggy was in the other room, because he’d barely entered his own office when his phone started to chirp. “Hawkeye. Hawkeye. Hawkeye.”

Shutting the door, Matt pulled his phone from his pocket, and Clint asked, “Has he snapped out of it yet?”

“No,” Matt answered. “Should he have?”

“Bruce said it was a possibility,” Clint said.

“Bruce?” Matt asked, his voice sharper than he’d wanted it to be. “Bruce Banner?”

“He’s not just the Hulk, bro,” Clint said, sounding defensive. “You’re blind, Matt, but you’ve got other abilities, and so has he. He’s not such a bad guy once you get to know him.”

“Okay,” Matt said, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just … all that destruction.”

“It was not Bruce’s fault.” Clint’s tone was becoming increasingly hostile. “And the Hulk helped save New York from the Chitauri.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said again. “I guess I never thought of the man behind the …” He almost said “mask”, and hastily substituted, “Hulk. I should have known better. I know how much I hate it when people only see me as that blind guy, and never get to know the real me.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Okay. So, you want to hear what he said? Cause he’s got a bit of experience in waking up and not remembering what happened. He’s usually pretty devastated when he finds out what the Hulk has been doing.”

“Yes, I’d like to hear what he said,” Matt said, humbled. “Please.”

“He said that sometimes these episodes only last a short time, an hour or two, and sometimes they last longer. How’s he doing otherwise? Does he seem depressed or agitated?”

“No, not that I could tell. He seems pretty normal, all things considered.”

“Okay, some people get really anxious about it, other people act like they don’t care. But that could change,” Clint said. “He might suddenly get angry, or sad, and not even know why.”

“I’ll watch for that,” Matt said. “Anything else? Anything I should be doing, or not doing?”

“Don’t try to force him to remember. And don’t make him feel bad about not remembering. Protect him if he looks like he’s going to hurt himself. Treat him normally, remember he’s still a person and not just a headcase. Bruce said it’s especially important that you don’t let him think he’s useless, or he might think about suicide.”

Matt made a sound of protest, thinking that Foggy was the last person on earth who would ever think of suicide, but Clint went on. “People get down when they think they’re … broken. So let him – hell, _make_ him do whatever he can, and help him do whatever he can’t. Basically, just be there for him. He needs friends more than anything else. Oh, and Bruce said if it continues for more than a day or two, you might want to think about getting him into treatment.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Matt said slowly. “What am I supposed to tell the doctors? That he was tortured, even though he doesn’t have a mark on him, because he knows who Daredevil is?”

“There are plenty of kinds of torture that don’t leave marks.” Clint was silent for a moment, which had the effect of making Matt’s skin crawl, then remarked, “Aww, bro, you’ll have plenty of time to come up with a good story. If you do go to a psychiatrist, your friend’ll probably be on a waiting list until he’s as old as Thor. Everybody in New York wants counseling after the battle.”

Matt chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah. You’re probably right. Anything else?”

“When Thor gets back, I’ll ask him if this is a side effect from the healing stone. And don’t hesitate to call if you need any help, with anything.”

“I might just take you up on that,” Matt said. “Thanks, Clint, you’ve been a big help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, thank you for all the comments. I didn't even have to break out the limerick that I composed especially for the occasion of begging for feedback. *g*


	9. Chapter 9

Matt heard the creaking of the wagon wheels two full minutes before the door buzzer went off and Karen jumped up. She paused just inside the doorway of Matt’s office, where he and Foggy were discussing the Johnson case, and announced, “The food is here. Matt, can you help me carry it up the stairs?”

“Sure,” he said, standing up, but Foggy stood up as well. “Remember how you twisted your knee? I’ll do it.”

“You twisted your knee, Matt?”

“Yeah, no big deal. I’ll set the table, then.” Matt had hoped his leg would feel better after a morning’s rest, but moving still hurt. He limped over to the office kitchen and pulled out the picnic bag from where Karen had stashed it, then went to the conference room to set out the plates and cutlery.

“I don’t get it,” Foggy said as he and Karen came back up with two large cardboard boxes. “We work for food now?”

“We couldn’t exactly turn her away. Mrs Zepeda was a friend of Mrs Cardenas,” Karen explained. “Just put that here, Foggy.”

“Who?”

Karen hesitated, and Matt tried to change the subject. He reached for the bigger of the two boxes, and carefully pulled out the blanket that was insulating the contents. “What’s on the menu for to-day?”

“I think she said chili con carne,” Foggy said, reaching around Matt’s hands to remove the dish from the box, “but that doesn’t smell like any chili I’ve ever had.”

“Olla de carne,” Karen corrected him. “And over here, cajeta de coco.”

“Which looks like a bit like fudge,” Foggy added. “Or truffles. Or fudgey truffles.”

“Coconut fudge,” Matt said, and extended his plate. “Here, Foggy, can you dish up some for me?”

“Truffles or this hola de carne?”

“Olla de carne, please, and it basically means beef stew. Hey, Karen, did Foggy ever tell you that he took Punjabi when he should have taken Spanish instead?”

“Yes, and he also told me why you took Spanish,” Karen retorted with a smile.

“So … does Mrs Zepeda bring us lunch every day?” Foggy asked. He filled Matt’s plate and handed it back, tapping it lightly against the back of Matt’s outstretched hand so that Matt knew where to reach for it. 

“No, just Tuesdays and Fridays,” Matt said.

“She wanted to bring some every day for a month,” Karen put in, taking her own, smaller, portion. “But you and Matt bargained her down.”

“She can’t afford to feed us every day,” Matt remembered. “Especially not if she’s going to splurge on special ingredients.”

“Did you know she brought this stuff in a little red wagon?” Foggy asked. “My dad had a wagon just like that when he was a kid. I saw it in pictures, but I didn’t know they made them anymore.”

“And she pulls it all the way here, with all this food in it, from her apartment,” Karen added. “It seems like such a long way for a little old lady, but she insists. She won’t even come upstairs and eat with us.”

“Do you think she went home?” Foggy asked, but Karen didn’t have an answer. Matt could tell by the sound of the wagon wheels that Mrs Zepeda had not gone home, but had simply gone around to the alley to eat her own lunch, or maybe just to wait out of sight. Instead, he remarked, “It tastes really good.”

“Mmm, I love the spices in this,” Karen agreed, then said suddenly, “Oh! Speaking of spices, did you guys see that new Daredevil latte at Beananza?”

“Foggy thought it might have tabasco sauce in it,” Matt replied, catching Karen in the act of drinking and making her snort liquid through her nose.

“I only said that tabasco sounded devilishly spicy,” Foggy defended himself, laughing as well.

Karen blew her nose and tucked the tissue away, still giggling weakly. “Anyway, that reminds me, Daredevil’s got his own fanclub. I saw it on the internet this morning.”

Matt felt his heart sink, and searched frantically for a way to cut off conversation about Daredevil in front of Foggy, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Daredevil?” Foggy asked.

“Oh, my g-d, you don’t remember, do you?” Karen stood up. “I’ll show you.”

She got something from her desk, then came back to the conference room with her laptop. “Here, see? He goes around Hell’s Kitchen at night, fighting crime, beating up the bad guys, protecting the innocent. He helped us take down Fisk – Wilson Fisk. He was like this big crime lord, racketeering, trying to juggle funds into his own pocket, trying to evict people from their rent-controlled apartments so that he could tear them down and put up expensive condominiums in their place, stuff like that.”

“So this Daredevil is basically a vigilante?” Foggy asked. He sounded incredulous, and Matt winced as he remembered similar words from his friend. “And he’s got a fanclub?”

“Yeah, and it’s not just teenaged girls, either. Well, that might be how it started out, once they saw those pictures of him in the newspaper, but now everybody’s getting into it. There’s a high school chapter, various college chapters, even a desperate housewives chapter. That’s what they call themselves, anyway.”

“Karen,” Matt said suspiciously. “Are you a member?”

She smiled a little with her voice. “How can I be a member when I only saw the site this morning and absolutely positively did not linger over it? He saved my life once, yeah, and you could call me a fan, but I haven’t registered or anything.”

Matt was sure he could hear a “yet” at the end of her little speech.

“So, you won’t be part of the Daredevil Watch Party this weekend?” Foggy asked.

“What is a Daredevil Watch Party?” Matt asked.

“Daredevil Watch Party,” Foggy read out. “We meet up at Beananza at eight p.m. on Saturday night for our new favourite drink – Daredevil Lattes, of course – and to show each other our signs and discuss our strategies. At nine p.m. we’ll roam across the city rooftops and keep an eye out for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen!”

Matt groaned audibly.

“It’s so sweet,” Karen said. “Some of them have already posted pictures of the signs that they’ll be setting up.“

“Daredevil, Do You Dare to Kiss Me?” That was Foggy.

“I like this one – Parkour Into My Arms.”

“Daredevil Appreciation Station – Cookies, Milk, And A Kiss?” But Foggy wasn’t amused anymore; he was starting to sound angry. “What do they think he is – Santa Claus?”

“He’s definitely fitter than Santa Claus,” Karen said. “Look, somebody posted that they’ve bought night vision goggles just for the occasion.”

“Night vision goggles? Just to get a glimpse of a vigilante running around in a skintight suit with stupid little horns? And what will they do if they see him? Chase him down for a selfie? What if they get mixed up in something? I mean, look at this footage, somebody’s shooting at him!” Abruptly, Foggy stood up from the table. ”These girls go running up to him, they could get hurt, dammit!”

He slammed his open hand into the wall by the door, and Matt felt Karen jump.

“Settle down, Foggy, it’s just a bit of fun,” she said shakily.

“They’ve all got cameras, telescopes, binoculars, and—and night vision goggles!” Foggy went on, getting louder and more agitated. “What if they see something they’re not supposed to, like in that Hitchcock film? They post it online and somebody comes after them and they get killed!”

That hadn’t occurred to Matt, but he put it aside to worry about later. “Foggy, it’s all right, calm down.”

“No!” Foggy shouted. “No! This is not right, Matt! Bad enough this guy thinks he can take the law into his own hands, now he’s putting everybody in Hell’s Kitchen in danger! Anybody who gets too close to Daredevil should be arrested and put into solitary confinement for their own protection!”

Matt felt as though he’d been shot in the heart with a bullet full of guilt, and for a moment, he sat there, too stunned to react. Was Foggy regaining his memories?

“Foggy!” Karen exclaimed. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

Foggy certainly wasn’t listening to Karen as he hit the wall again. The violence knocked something loose in Matt; he jumped up and grabbed Foggy’s arm. “Foggy. Foggy, you wanna hit something, hit me, not the wall. Hit _me_ , Foggy.”

Foggy tried to free himself, but Matt’s grip was stronger as he pulled his friend around to face him. “Come on, Foggy,” he said. “I’m not made of glass, I can take it. You can hit me.”

“Why would I want to hit you?” Foggy demanded. “You’re not Daredevil!”

Matt was too used to secrecy to immediately seize the opportunity for revelation, and said instead, “And neither is that wall, Foggy. Bruises heal on their own, but if you knock out the light switch, we’ll have to pay for an electrician.” 

“No!” Karen cried. “No hitting, no fighting, just stop it, please!” 

“I’m not fighting,” Foggy said, slumping in defeat. “Fuck. Sorry, Karen. Sorry, Matt. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was doing – I – sorry.”

He sank back into his chair, and after a moment, Matt sat down as well. “It’s all right, Foggy, your brain is doing weird things right now.”

“Maybe you should try counselling?” Karen suggested in a hesitant voice. “Some sort of hypnosis, try to get your memories back?”

“Maybe I don’t want my memories back,” Foggy said slowly, and Matt felt himself freeze again as Foggy went on, “I Googled amnesia before Mr Johnson came, and one of the causes can be some kind of traumatic incident.”

“You mean something traumatic happened to you? What –?” There was a hitch to Karen’s voice that was all too familiar, the same kind of underlying tone that Matt had heard most clearly just before they’d taken down Fisk. He thought it had faded over time, but it had come back full force.

“I don’t know,” Foggy said. “And maybe this is my brain’s way of saying I don’t want to know.”

“Aren’t you curious?” Karen asked. “Just a little bit?”

“Nope, don’t think I am,” Foggy said. “Because whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad for my brain to go into lockdown, you know?”

He was right, Matt thought, he was so right, and the knowledge made him feel even worse. 

“What would be worse?” Karen mused aloud. “Remembering the trauma, or not remembering?”

“Well, if I ever get my memories back, I’ll let you know,” Foggy said. “But right now, I’d have to say remembering. Because _not_ remembering, yeah, it’s scary and weird, but obviously my brain thinks I really don’t want to know, and … I think I’m okay with it. If you guys help me out whenever I need it, I mean.”

Finally, Matt knew how to react, and smiled in Foggy’s direction. “Of course, Foggy. We’ll do everything we can.”

“We won’t get mad if you get angry again,” Karen said. 

“I meant what I said, Foggy, you can hit me anytime you need to,” Matt added.

“Jeeze, Matt, do you have to be such a masochist? The way I felt just now … I could _hurt_ you, man!”

Matt really didn’t think he could, at least not much, but tried not to show it. “Or we can go to Fogwell’s gym and let you hit the punching bag. I know the owner, he’ll let us in any time.”

“Now that sounds more like it.”

“All you have to do is tell me. Just try to leave the office in one piece, okay?”

“And you can have a hug whenever you want,” Karen volunteered.

“Hey, maybe I should loose my memory more often,” Foggy said, standing up with his arms outstretched. As they embraced, he teased, “Or maybe I did, and I just don’t remember.”


	10. Chapter 10

By the time they got to Matt’s apartment on the sixth floor, Foggy could see that his friend was no longer trying to hide his limp. They’d been walking most of the afternoon; first to see Sergeant Brett Mahoney, to talk to him about the Daredevil Fanclub and ask if the police couldn’t show up at the Watch Party, or at least somehow warn the members not to approach Daredevil, and then to go grocery shopping for Matt. 

“You should put some ice on your leg,” Foggy said as Matt unlocked the door.

“I don’t think ice will help,” Matt said.

“It’s basic first aid,” Foggy said. “RICE – rest, ice, compression, elevation. You got any ice in here?”

“There are some cold packs in the freezer.” Matt led the way in and used his right hand to gesture towards what Foggy assumed would be the kitchen.

“Right, then, you go sit down and I’ll bring you one—“ Foggy stopped as he got his first glimpse of Matt’s living quarters, illuminated by an electronic advertisement exactly opposite the windows. “You have that thing shining in your living room all the time? Good thing you’re blind!”

Matt laughed a little. “That’s pretty much what you said the first time. But the rent’s cheaper, anyway.”

Foggy used the brighter moments to find a light switch in the kitchen area. “Hey, Matt, you ever see Blade Runner?”

“Nope,” Matt replied, sinking down onto the sofa. “Haven’t seen it, or Firefly, or Serenity, or Almost Human, either.”

“How’d you know I was going to ask that next?” Foggy put the shopping bags on the counter and opened the freezer. 

“Because that was the next thing you said, that it reminded you of all those futuristic science fiction shows.”

“So Almost Human is one of those shows? And I probably saw it, but don’t remember, right?” Foggy finally found the ice pack. As he walked into the living area, he continued, “Do you remember what I said about it, did I like it, should I watch it again?”

Matt jumped slightly as Foggy placed the ice pack over his right knee. “I don’t – I don’t remember.”

“Sorry,” Foggy said. “I should have warned you. You got any ace bandages here, you want me to wrap it up?”

“No, this is fine,” Matt said, and as Foggy turned to go back to the kitchen, he saw how Matt moved the ice pack from his knee to a spot higher up on his thigh. He shrugged mentally, and turned his attention back to the groceries.

“Hey, Matt, you got a Braille labeler in here somewhere?”

“Should be in the drawer.”

“Which one? No, wait, I found it. You want me to make dinner while I’m here? I haven’t forgotten how to make spaghetti. Or you’ve pretty much got everything I need to do my mom’s Easy Cheesy Casserole.”

“You spoil me for choice,” Matt said. “Easy Cheesy, if you don’t mind. And thanks, Foggy.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

Foggy decided to assemble the casserole first and slide it into the oven, then take on the task of labeling all the cans and packages and putting them away. When he’d finished and there were still a few minutes left before the food was ready, he went into the living area. Matt had become increasingly quiet while Foggy was working, and now he sat sideways on the couch, his right leg up on the cushions and his head bowed as though he’d nodded off. But as Foggy approached, he looked up.

“I can go home, if you’re too tired,” Foggy offered. He had to explore his apartment at some point anyway, get familiar with it now that he knew it really was his and not just a practical joke, but although he knew he was putting it off, he didn’t know why.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Matt said with a quick but guilty smile. “I was meditating.”

“Meditating?” Foggy asked. That was a new one. “Since when do you meditate?”

“I’ve always done it,” Matt said. “Just, usually, not when you were around.”

“What do you need to meditate about?” Remembering Karen from the office, Foggy couldn’t help adding, “Girls?”

“Sometimes.” Matt showed his quick smile again, but then he patted his leg. “To-day, to help with the pain.”

“Sure you don’t want me to take you to the doctor?” Foggy knew he’d asked that before, and wasn’t surprised when Matt shook his head.

“You could take an aspirin or something,” Foggy went on. 

“It just needed some rest,” Matt said. He straightened up and swung his leg around so that his foot rested on the floor again. “See? It feels better already.”

“You don’t have any aspirin, do you?” Foggy hadn’t seen any in the kitchen. Now he headed towards the bathroom, ignoring Matt’s protests, and checked the cabinets there. There was one plastic bottle of ibuprofen, but when Foggy lifted it up, he could tell it was empty.

“You know what?” he said, coming back into the living area. “We passed a drugstore on the way here, I’m going to go buy you some.”

Matt tried again. “Fog, it’s okay, I don’t need it, I’m fine.”

“Nope, I’m doing this. Don’t know why you didn’t think of it while we were shopping, but you cannot convince me that you can just meditate the pain away. You’re not some kind of Jedi, Matt.”

Matt sighed. “Foggy—“

“You don’t really want to stop me or you would have gotten up to block the door,” Foggy said.

“I was only going to ask you to take out the garbage if you’re going downstairs anyway. It must be pretty full by now,” Matt said, and Foggy stopped, surprised, in the act of reaching for his jacket.

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, then added quietly, “I knew you weren’t okay.” 

He pulled the edges of the garbage bag together and made a knot , then pulled it out of the container. There was a ripping sound, and something clattered to the floor.

“Damn,” he said, and bent down to pick it up.

The smell.

The garbage.

Bending over.

And all the bad memories came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And even though it's no longer true for this story, here is the limerick that you asked so nicely about in the comments:
> 
> There once was a writer named Zel  
> Who lived in a personal hell.  
> The stories she penned  
> Got kudos no end,  
> But rarely a comment as well.
> 
> :-)


	11. Chapter 11

Foggy began to tremble so badly that his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. His heart thudded violently in his chest, sweat broke out all over his body, he wanted to throw up, but worst of all, he felt as though he couldn’t breathe properly. He was choking, he was suffocating, no matter how he gulped for air, he wasn’t getting enough.

“Foggy?” Somehow Matt was there. “Just breathe, Foggy, just breathe.”

Easy for Matt to say, he wasn’t retching and gasping at the same time. And Foggy’s heart had stopped thudding and was now doing some weird kind of cardiac gymnastics, what did they call it, palpitations, what happened if it stopped altogether, it couldn’t keep going like that, it had to stop eventually or it would burst, he was going to die, oh, g-d he was going to die!

Foggy didn’t know how long it took before his breathing became more measured, his heartbeat became more regular, the acute nausea disappeared, and his trembling body finally stilled. But eventually, he became aware that he was curled up on Matt’s kitchen floor, covered in cold sweat, his head resting on Matt’s leg, and tears flowing from his eyes. 

“It’s all right,” Matt was repeating as he rubbed Foggy’s back. “I’m here with you. You’re not going to die. You’re safe.”

“I remember,” Foggy whispered. “I remember everything.”

“I know. But that was then. It’s over now, and you’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Foggy pushed himself up into a sitting position. He wanted to run away from Matt’s tenderness, but sitting up was all he could manage. He felt as drained as though he’d been lying there all night. Maybe he had.

“You’re okay,” Matt told him. “You’re not dying.”

“Wish I were – I wish I were dead,” Foggy murmured. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. Matt reached out and found the kitchen towel hanging from the oven door handle, then tossed it to him. Foggy caught it automatically and blotted the rest of the moisture from his eyes.

“I was right,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to know. I knew it would be bad, and I was right, I was right, it’s worse than I ever imagined, oh, g-d, I wish I didn’t remember! I wish I’d died – I wish I’d let them kill me!”

“It’s okay, Foggy—“

“How can you stand to even be in the same room with me?” Foggy demanded, interrupting. The tears started to flow again, and his voice caught. He couldn’t even look at Matt, and so he turned his head away as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “I betrayed you, Matt! No, I didn’t just betray you. I begged them, just like they wanted me to. Let me tell you everything about Daredevil, oh, please pretty-please! I thought I’d be braver and stronger, but I wasn’t. I was so weak and so cowardly, I actually begged and said please!”

“They were torturing you, Foggy. Whatever you did, you did because you wanted to survive,” Matt said. He sounded like he was crying, too, but Foggy didn’t look over to see. “You weren’t a coward and you weren’t weak. If you hadn’t given in, they would have hurt you even more. Don’t ever feel guilty for acting in self-preservation.“

“Daredevil wouldn’t have given in,” Foggy said.

“That’s not true,” Matt said. “I’m not immune to torture. I would have given in.”

“Yeah?” Foggy scoffed. “I’ve seen you on video, Matt, you can even jump out of the way when people shoot at you! If somebody tried to kidnap you, and said, put this blindfold on or we’ll shoot you in the arm, you would have just flipped your way out, dodged all the speeding bullets, and leaped a tall building in a single bound.”

“That’s not fair, Foggy,” Matt protested. “I’m not Superman.”

But Foggy went on, “Superman, super senses, what’s the difference? You wouldn’t have given in, you wouldn’t have put that blindfold around your own eyes, you wouldn’t have – you wouldn’t done anything they told you to. You wouldn’t have been like _me_!”

Then Foggy couldn’t stop the sobs any longer, and buried his face in the towel. Matt scooted closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping it there although Foggy gave a little shrug of rejection. Foggy didn’t want to admit it felt good. Nor would he admit he liked the way Matt’s thigh was warm against his own. He told himself he was just too weak to wriggle away. Physically and mentally, just too damned weak. 

Matt waited until Foggy stopped sobbing of his own accord before he spoke up again. “Yeah, I’ve got heightened senses, and I’ve had training that helps me fight. But I’ve got weaknesses, too.”

Unable to think of a coherent reply, Foggy settled for a snort of disbelief.

“Remember two weeks ago when I woke up in Avengers Tower and Clint answered my phone and you thought he’d kidnapped me? I heard you say you’d do anything to keep me safe,” Matt said. 

Foggy groaned; he should have known Matt would hear him jumping to stupid conclusions.

“And I’d do anything to keep _you_ safe,” Matt went on. “If anybody ever threatened you, I’d give in. I’d do _anything_ – whatever they wanted. I’d even put earplugs in my ears.”

The thought of Matt voluntarily giving up his most important sense was enough for Foggy to lift his head from the dishtowel and stare at his friend. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Yes,” Matt declared. “Yes, Foggy, I would.”

Foggy considered many variations of that scenario, but they always ended in the same way. “Yeah, until you found a way to get free and beat the living shit out of them.”

“Only if I could do that without letting you get hurt,” Matt said. “But otherwise … yeah.”

“That’s – good to know. Thanks,” Foggy said, trying to make it sound casual and not desperate, or heaven forbid, sarcastic. After a moment, though, he couldn’t help asking, “Matt – would you be scared? I mean, does Daredevil ever get scared?”

“Yeah, I get scared,” Matt admitted. As though needing comfort himself, he put his arm around Foggy’s shoulders and leaned closer. “And I’d be even more scared without my hearing. But last night, when I heard you screaming, I was _terrified_.”

“They told me you’d never hear me down there. I didn’t think you’d come, I thought I’d die down there and you’d never know,” Foggy remembered, and after a moment, he thought to ask, “Are your super senses really that good, that you could hear me from all the way up here?”

“I was outside at the time,” Matt mentioned, “and much closer to where they had you.”

“Wasn’t that a little early for Daredevil?”

“I could hear somebody harassing the Mormon missionaries just down the block, so I went out,” Matt explained.

“Seriously? You put on the suit because somebody was harassing those Mormon guys?”

“Mormon girls,” Matt clarified. “Sister missionaries. And the guys were pretty crude, and wouldn’t let up, and I was afraid it was going to escalate from sexual harassment to sexual assault. I put a stop to it, and made sure the sisters got safely to where they were headed, and that’s when I heard you.”

“Huh,” said Foggy. He’d seen Mormon missionaries before, as easily identifiable as nuns in their own way, with their clothing styles and their name tags, but he’d never really taken much notice. Now he’d never be able to look at them again without thinking of how they’d unknowingly played a part in his rescue. It was unknowingly, right? “They didn’t hear me, too, did they?”

“No,” Matt reassured him. “Just me.”

Well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being embarrassed if he ever ran into them. He sighed, and rested his head on Matt’s shoulder. 

“Funny,” Matt said after a moment.

“What?”

“You’re sitting there feeling guilty because you think you betrayed me and I’m sitting here feeling guilty because it’s my fault that you were kidnapped in the first place.”

“You’re feeling guilty?” Foggy asked. “Because of what happened to me?”

“Yeah,” Matt admitted. “And I can honestly tell you that your guilt doesn’t count, because you were tortured, Foggy, and you were just trying to get through it, but you can’t tell me that my guilt doesn’t count, because it does. Nobody’s forcing me to go out and try to make my city a better place.”

“At least you’re trying to do something for the greater good,” Foggy said. “I was just trying to survive by throwing you to the wolves. I should have been a better friend, even under torture.”

“Oh, Foggy, how many times will I have to tell you it’s okay, that I don’t blame you?” 

Foggy shrugged, not sure how to answer that. Matt hesitated, then asked, “You want to come to confession with me and talk to Father Lantom about it?”

“I’m not Catholic, Matt.”

“I know. I just thought it might make you feel better.”

“Does it make you feel better?” Foggy challenged.

“Sometimes.” 

“I never thought the word ‘sometimes’ could rhyme with ‘no’ until I heard you say it, Matt.” But Foggy was intrigued. “Does he make you say Hail Mary’s and stuff like that? You know, penance?”

“He suggests stuff like that, yeah,” Matt said. “But once he told me that sometimes the most effective penance was just to suffer the consequences of your actions.”

“Wise man,” Foggy mused.

Matt smiled a little, then touched Foggy’s head with his own. “You feeling better now?”

“I guess not being dead on the floor with the rest of your trash counts as ‘better.’”

“Foggy, don’t say things like that.”

Foggy didn’t bother to apologize, and after a moment, Matt asked, “You want to eat?”

“Yeah – oh, g-d, the casserole, it’s probably burnt by now!” Foggy scrambled to stand up, but Matt said, “It’s okay, I got it out of the oven in time.”

“Oh.” Foggy didn’t remember Matt opening the oven, but the casserole was right there on the counter, not even steaming anymore. He gave it a suspicious little poke to confirm what he’d already guessed. “It’s gone cold already. Sorry.”

“You’re more important than food, and anyway, we can heat it up again.” Matt reached up. “Give me a hand, will you?”

As Foggy helped haul his friend to his feet, he asked, “You didn’t twist your knee on the stairs, did you?”

“No,” Matt admitted. “It’s just a bullet graze. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“Matt …”

“I didn’t want to tell you because you were already suffering from amnesia and I didn’t want to make things worse.” Matt shuffled around him to reach for the plates. “Here.”

Foggy took them. “Oh, go sit down, Matt, or you’ll make me feel even more guilty than I already do.”

“I told you, Foggy, you don’t have to feel guilty. It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.” But Matt limped obediently around the counter to the nearest chair and sank into it.

“Dammit, Matt, I can feel guilty if I want to!” Foggy slammed a serving of casserole onto a plate with such force that the sauce splashed in all directions. 

“In fact,” he went on, putting the plate in the microwave and pressing the buttons, “you know what, Matt? You know how it’s called a pity party when you sit around and feel sorry for yourself? Well, we’re going to sit around this evening, eat this casserole, drink that beer that I made you buy, and feel guilty together, and we will call it a guilty party.” 

Matt laughed out loud, the first time Foggy had heard him do so in weeks – months, maybe – and it startled him. 

“What?” he asked, ready to become more grumpy than he already was.

“Nelson and Murdock, the guilty party,” Matt repeated, and only then did Foggy realize what he’d said.

“Damn,” he said, unable to stop himself from smiling, too. “I didn’t mean it like that. Or maybe I kinda did. But anyway, we’re gonna do it, and we’ll worry about to-morrow, um, to-morrow.” 

“You know what, Foggy?” Matt asked, regarding him with a look of fondness on his face. “I think you’re going to be all right. Not right away, maybe, but with a little time, I think you’ll be okay.”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, everybody!


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